[oat milk]

Oh, to be someone else, anyone else. I long for a life that is blissful and serene, surrounded by fields of peonies, with overgrown weeds in my garden; I long for a life full of pain and woe, my body covered in dust and sweat and grime, walking home every day to a shabby, lonely house filled with cockroaches and spiders. I long for beauty and for hatred and for any form of emotion more passionate than what my life today is capable of; I long to be loved and to be held and to be envied and despised and forgotten; I long to escape the mediocrity of being me.